


it's the same thing, right or wrong

by ozmissage



Category: The Killing
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She trusts him. But she suspects that she shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the same thing, right or wrong

Somehow their clothes find their way out of suitcases and back into drawers. A month later, their boxes arrive from Sonoma without Sarah ever having to send for them. With a pang, she realizes just how true Rick’s words were, he really did know her for all the good it did him.

Sarah never drops the pretense that they’re leaving, never fully closes the door to that other life, to the bittersweet idea that they might live in a place where they can turn their faces to the sky and feel the sun. But Jack’s a smart kid. He doesn’t need her to say it.

“I need my own room,” he informs her two weeks after they get off the plane, his fingers flying across the tiny keyboard on his phone, never looking up.

She opens the paper, starts looking for an apartment near the station.

*

The Larsen case is closed.

Holder sits across from her every day, his feet propped on their desk, shit-eating grin firmly in place. The lie settles between them and the urge to ask eats at her day and night. Maybe Richmond was innocent. If so, his brains were splashed across the pavement for no good reason at all and there’s a man behind bars who didn’t commit the righteous crime he thinks he did.

And Holder.

She stares at him intently, he’s busy scribbling notes across their latest case file---a John Doe found face down under a bridge. He scratches his nose absently, taps his foot. A junkie never quite shakes his ticks.

“You keep undressing me with your eyes, Linden, and I’m going to have to charge you. This ass ain’t cheap, baby.”

His grin widens and she smiles back without meaning to.

“What have you got?” she asks and he leans forward to spread the file between them.

She trusts him.

But she suspects that she shouldn’t.

*

It’s past midnight and she’s staring at pictures of Rosie Larsen.

Rosie in the trunk. Rosie in the casino. Rosie in her pink wig; smiling, happy.

Nothing adds up. She closes her laptop, tells herself that it never will, but there are other cases, ones that can be solved.

That night she dreams of butterflies, wakes up in a cold sweat.

*

“Turns out, John Doe was an actual John. Spent half his time gettin’ busy down by the marina, made a nice chunk of change too. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Holder pauses, waiting expectantly. Sarah brushes a strand of damp hair out of her eyes before answering.

“Rich guy decided to make sure our John kept his mouth shut?” she offers, and Holder claps his hands together just a tad bit too enthusiastically.

“Me and you, we’ve got a link, it’s psychic, it’s…”

“If you say kismet, you’re walking back to the station,” Sarah warns.

“Always the hardass,” he mutters.

*

Stan Larsen is found guilty of assault in the second degree. Holder whistles when he hears the news, says the guy had a damn good lawyer.

Sarah nods in agreement. She’s cooking dinner for her son and her partner, pretending the situation isn’t as strange as it feels. She flips the tofu burgers and grimaces at the smell. To his credit, Holder grimaces too.

“Little man, really going to eat that?” he asks warily.

“I was cooking for our guest. The vegetarian.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself out on my account, Linden. You want to chuck that shit and order a pizza, you get no argument from me.”

Sarah laughs, a rare occurrence.

“I put some menus in the drawer,” she says, gesturing. Holder pulls them out and hops up on the counter beside her as she places the order.

“Ask for extra sausage,” he hisses, and Sarah rolls her eyes.

Jack wanders in from his room, grins when he sees Holder. They greet each other with a complicated handshake that Sarah can’t quite follow, one she knows for a fact that she could never hope to duplicate. Her son looks happy and maybe in this moment, he is.

*

Holder comes over for dinner again two days later.

And three days after that.

And the next day.

Until one night he doesn’t go home after.

*

They cross the line with very little prompting and Sarah keeps a running tally of all the ways this is wrong. He’s her partner. Her son loves him. He’s an addict. A liar.

Everything fades when he places his hands on her hips, invading her space, trapping her against the counter. Jack is with his dad and she was just frustrated enough to let herself drink a third beer at dinner. Holder’s long fingers dig into her hip, the corners of his lips quirk up into a half-smile.

“You gonna fuck me tonight, Linden?” he drawls.

She is.

She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, forcing him to bend down to meet her lips. He slips his tongue into her mouth without preamble, kisses her in the desperate manner of a teenager. She lets her fingers trace the outline of the cross on the back of his neck as she nips at his lip.

They don’t bother to stumble to the bedroom; they drop to the cool tiles of the kitchen floor instead. Holder lies back as she jerks his jeans down and straddles him, he groans the very first time she shifts her hips.

“Easy,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “Easy.”

Sarah shakes her head.

“No.”

She rides him until he comes.

*

She’s curled against his chest, mouth pressed against another tattoo, one she’s never seen before. A Japanese symbol. _Tranquility_ , he tells her before she opens her mouth to ask.

He’s half asleep and the house is quiet, dark. She could let it go, but she won’t.

“Why’d you lie?”

He stays silent, stalling.

“Richmond was guilty as sin.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

He moves one hand up to her face, his twitching fingers toying with her hair. He takes a deep breath and she can feel his chest shaking beneath her as he lets it out.

“It don’t matter why. The right man went down.”

“Holder…”

He places a finger under her chin, tips her face toward his.

“Please don’t ask me again, Sarah.”

She stares at him, tries to see through him, but no matter how hard she looks all she can see is her partner.

“I can’t promise you that,” she tells him.

He licks his lips, leans his head back against the tiles.

“Fair enough.”

*

The first anniversary of Rosie Larsen’s death comes and goes.

Sarah buys a bouquet of flowers for the grave. The florist tells her they’ll attract butterflies. Holder tags along, but he hangs back at the gravesite. She leaves him leaning against the car, cigarette dangling between his lips.

She kneels down beside the headstone, wincing as the mud soaks through the knees of her jeans.

“I’m sorry,” she says simply, not quite knowing what she’s apologizing for.

She places the flowers on the damp earth, turns her face to the gray sky.

She can almost see the sun.


End file.
